“He wants permission to bury the dead,” replied Roughgrove.
“He’s the very rascal we let loose last night,” said Sneak.
This was true. Although the singed savage had removed some of the black marks produced by the explosion, yet so many palpable traces of that event were still exhibited on his person, there could be no doubt of his identity.
The Indian came for the purpose mentioned by Roughgrove, and his request was granted. He made a sign to a comrade he had left some distance behind, who, in a very few minutes, was seen to approach in a hasty though timorous pace.
“Don’t go to shooting out here!” exclaimed Sneak, hearing a clicking sound, and the next moment observing Joe pointing his musket through the loophole nearly in a line with the spot where he stood.
“Come in! come in! come in!” cried Joe.
“Put your gun away, and be silent,” said Glenn.
“I’ll be silent,” replied Joe, “but I’d rather stand here and watch awhile. If they ain’t going to hurt any of us, it’ll do no harm; and if they do try to kill any of you, it may do some good.”
When the second Indian arrived, he seized the body of the savage enveloped in the swine-skin, (knowing that permission to do so had been obtained by his comrade,) and bore him away with great expedition, manifesting no inclination whatever to tarry at a place which had been so fatal to his brethren. But the other had every confidence in the mercy of the whites, and lingered some length of time, gazing at the corpse before him, as if hesitating whether to bear it away.
“Why do you not take him up?” inquired Roughgrove.